Talk To Me, Dance With Me
by lpdrunknmunky
Summary: 5980! The club Yamamoto chose was the busiest, most popular club in the entire city. On a Saturday night, just after midterms, it was packed.


Title: Talk To Me, Dance With Me

Pairing: 5980, oh yes

Warnings: Language, sexual situations, set in the TYE/TYL gap

Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyoushi Hitman Reborn.

AN: I thought it would be a challenge to write an _in-character_ uke!Yamamoto so I had to try. There's some tricky switching of perspectives… And yes, the title comes from the song by Hot Hot Heat. Also, the prompt _should _be "At a club," but that isn't on the list! So, "On the bed" will have to do. The sex scene had me damn near hyperventilating—I nearly died—so I hope it pleases! I think it's one of my hotter scenes thus far, but who knows?

0o0o0o0

Gokudera was never one to choose ignorance over acceptance. He was stubborn, but not dense. That's why, when he first laid eyes on Yamamoto Takeshi and thought he was one fine example of the ideal male physique, he accepted it just like any other time he found a man attractive. Being bisexual wasn't the worst thing that'd ever happened to him, after all. Besides, just because he found the idiot worth fucking didn't mean he was going to put the moves on him; he'd seen plenty of hot men and women before and had yet to act on a single impulse. He had more important things to do than scope out potential lovers.

In fact, he probably would have forgotten all about the guy if it hadn't turned out that he was going to end up spending nearly every day with him as they both became Tsuna's best friends. Even as he complained and wished he didn't have to endure his presence, he also partially enjoyed Yamamoto for his value as eye candy. He thought he hid it from everyone fairly well, and all continued to go on as it should: free of sex and the unnecessary complications it caused.

Things started to change right around the time he began to accept Yamamoto as a partner, rather than a hindrance. It took many occurrences for him to really notice it but as time went on, he recognized a certain respect and maybe even fondness developing for the Rain Guardian. Whether he wanted him to or not, the baseball idiot was growing on him. But even if he couldn't deny it, he could still ignore it. Or try to.

It was on a cold, stormy Saturday morning that Gokudera decided to visit the library instead of Tsuna for a change. He was full of these brooding thoughts and annoyed about it to boot. There was no way he could devote his full attention to the Tenth when he was as agitated as the dark roiling clouds overhead. Tsuna had an exam in one of his classes soon anyway, so he would probably be too busy cramming to miss him much.

There wasn't anything he needed to work on, even though they were in college now, and he hadn't gone to just read in a while, so he scanned his favorite section of the stacks and found some choice selections to sit down and browse. He chose the quietest, darkest, most secluded corner of the library to sulk in and immersed himself in another author's world for a while. A couple of hours' worth of reading got his mind off of his problems, but did nothing to resolve them, as he soon realized after finishing the first book. Setting it down with a sigh, he leaned back on the sofa and gazed at the backs of his eyelids.

Apparently, he had fallen asleep at some point, because when he opened his eyes again the lighting had changed. It was almost dusk now. He looked around for what had awoken him but found nothing out of the ordinary. Then he checked his cell and, sure enough, there was a missed call. From Yamamoto no less. He called him back, thinking it could have been important and possibly mafia-related.

"_Yo."_

"Yamamoto."

"_Oh, hey, Gokudera! I just called you but you didn't answer. Were you busy?"_

Deciding not to bother with an explanation, he ignored the question. "What do you want?"

"_Oh, haha! I just thought I'd call and see what you were up to."_

With a clenched jaw, he placed his thumb over the red button on his phone. If the next thing he said wasn't interesting or important, he was going to hang up.

"_Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?"_

Well that was interesting.

"What!?"

"_Dinner. You know, you go to a place and eat, hang out, talk…"_

"I heard you, moron! Why are you asking _me_?" Didn't he have anything better to do than be yelled at all night? Or was he just masochistic?

"_Because I want to have dinner with you. We've both been busy with midterms lately so we haven't been able to hang out much, you know?"_

"But. Why _me_?"

"_Hahaha! What do you mean why you?"_ While his tone was playful and lighthearted, there was definitely genuine confusion mixed in. He really couldn't understand why Gokudera would think it odd, him suggesting they have dinner like it wouldn't sound like a date. Speaking of dates, he was fairly certain Yamamoto still hadn't been on one, although he had turned 20 this spring.

"Nevermind. I'm not hungr—" His stomach chose that moment to interrupt with a loud grumble.

Yamamoto laughed. _"It sure sounds like you are. Are you sure? I'm on the road right now; I can come get you."_

"Ugh, fine! I'm at the library. Hurry up."

"_Okay!"_

0o0o0o0

He slid over the smooth black leather of the heated seat and resisted a shiver. His hoodie had done little to protect him from the biting cold of late autumn after dark, and Yamamoto's warm car, with its heated leather seats, was a grudgingly appreciated respite from the chill.

"Hey," he greeted with a smile.

"Mn."

"So where do you want to go?"

"Someplace with alcohol."

Looking out his window, he missed the surprised amusement flash over Yamamoto's face. "How about that place you like, the one with 'half-decent Italian food'?" He almost smirked at Yamamoto's impression of his gruff voice.

"Sure, whatever."

The rules of Gokudera riding in Yamamoto's car were that Gokudera could choose the radio station they listened to and Yamamoto had to shut up when a good song came on. It usually worked out just fine. Yamamoto liked the stations Gokudera picked, mostly rock or classical, and he was equally content to just listen to the song and appreciate the other's company. Tonight was no different. They shared occasional snippets of idle conversation and listened to the radio for the twenty minute drive to the chosen restaurant. And if Gokudera noticed Yamamoto's long fingers on the stick shift and steering wheel more than usual, he sure as hell wasn't going to admit it.

Once inside, Gokudera was quick to order a drink, and then set about getting himself buzzed as quickly as possible, sitting across from the one causing most of his inner turmoil. If Yamamoto sensed a change in his normal behavior, he didn't say anything. He mostly followed Gokudera's example and sipped his own spiked drink between nibbling breadsticks and humming the last song they'd heard in the car.

Finally, their appetizers were brought out and Yamamoto chattered at him around a mozzarella stick.

"So how're your classes going?"

"Fine."

"You still taking—what was it—French?"

"Yeah."

"Haha, how many languages does that make now? Four?"

"Five."

"Really? Let's see," he looked askance as he thought, "Japanese, English, Italian, French, and…"

"Mandarin."

"Oh? You learning that from I-pin?"

"Yeah."

By the time they were halfway through their main courses, Gokudera had a healthy flush to his cheeks and a considerably lighter heart. Although the latter he accredited to the cause of the former, not his cheerful dinner partner. Either way, he felt ten times better than he had that morning. It was probably because of this that Yamamoto's next question didn't have him immediately up and leave the restaurant.

"Hey, do you want to go to a club?"

It still left him speechless for a moment, fork frozen in front of his open mouth. He set his fork down and took a deep breath before answering.

"What the _fuck_, Yamamoto?"

"Huh? I don't know, it just sounds like fun. You like dancing, don't you?"

Rendered speechless once again by the simplicity that was Yamamoto's way of thinking, Gokudera just stared.

"Or are you the shy type? I've never seen you dance, actually. Why is that?"

Gokudera didn't say it was because yes, he was a little shy, and also no, he didn't have the time for that sort of thing. Instead, his somewhat muddled mind had him seeing the simple observance as a challenge and an insult to his pride and blurting, "Yeah, all right. Let's go to a club."

It only took him a second to realize he'd just said it but it was too late. Yamamoto indulged his brightest grin and went back to happily munching his lasagna. In Gokudera's brain echoed a resounding, _Oh, shit_.

0o0o0o0

The club Yamamoto chose was the busiest, most popular club in the entire city. On a Saturday night, just after midterms, it was packed. Gokudera figured they only got in because Yamamoto was wearing a tight black tank top under an open white button-up, dark wash jeans riding low on his slim hips, his hair messy from running his hand through it a couple of times at dinner. He looked fucking edible. Not that he noticed because it was Yamamoto. He was just observant, that's all.

Although he didn't look too bad himself, Gokudera noted, looking his reflection over in the bathroom mirror. His hair was behaving today, sleek and soft-looking, and his dark green v-neck framed the storm ring dangling on its silver chain. His hoodie was left unzipped but still present; his black slacks hung low enough to show off his studded belt and chain.

Pushing past the blue tinted glass panel of the bathroom door, Gokudera made a beeline for the bar and ordered one shot of tequila after another until Yamamoto found him. His eyes swept over the growing collection of glasses and his friend's hazy eyes with a raised eyebrow.

"Maybe you should slow down?"

"Fuck you," Gokudera suggested.

"Hahaha! Maybe later, but for now, how about a dance?"

He tried not to splutter at _that_ reply and focused on removing the hand dragging him towards the tide of surging bodies. Far too soon for Gokudera's liking, they were surrounded on all sides and being steadily pressed closer together. Gokudera attempted to scowl at all of them at once and succeeded only in looking like an awkward wallflower trapped out of his element. He was all set to stand there and sulk until he could find a way out, but then Yamamoto, who was currently close enough to share air with, began shifting his hips and swaying easily to the deep bass beat. Suddenly getting away was the furthest thing from Gokudera's mind.

For a few moments, he just stood and stared. Yamamoto laughed and leaned forward, hands gripping Gokudera's stationary waist and face coming close to talk into his ear.

"It's a club, Gokudera! You have to dance or there's no point!" he shouted over the music.

Hands slipped a little lower to guide Gokudera to the rhythm. Small scowl acting as a shield, he wondered why he was allowing this situation at all. If he weren't so inebriated, he would never have let Yamamoto touch him or get this close. Ah, well. At least he didn't have to deal with the hassle of his own anxiety anymore. It was a more than fair trade.

Not wanting to feel like an idiot who couldn't dance, Gokudera followed the example and began to move. Yamamoto's approving grin flashed momentarily before Gokudera was more concerned with watching the other's body to notice his facial expressions anymore. The way he moved was mesmerizing. He'd only ever seen that body in fighting or relaxed stances, never this sensuous movement. He felt like a defenseless Cobra before the skilled machinations of his Charmer.

The warmth of the hands still holding him and Yamamoto's proximity were more intoxicating than the tequila he could still taste at the back of his throat. Gokudera had never been so tempted in his life. All of the logic he usually held up as a bullet-proof barrier was dissolved in sweet-smelling liquid, and the only thing he had left to stop him was his own modesty, which was never much to begin with. Half-lidded eyes flicked up to closed ones and without a second thought, Gokudera took that last step forward and touched their bodies together.

Yamamoto's eyes flickered open in surprise but he didn't pull away. They held a gaze for several seconds and eventually, Yamamoto's mouth quirked and he slipped his eyes shut again, letting his guard down. Gokudera's palms rested on his friend's waist, pulling him incrementally closer as they moved in unison.

Several songs later, both had a light sheen of sweat covering them. Gokudera relented and let go of his partner to strip off his hoodie and tie it around his waist. Yamamoto leaned forward once more to suggest they take a break by the bar. He ordered them a couple of icy fruit drinks with paper umbrellas in them and Gokudera scowled at his but sucked it down, regardless of its offensive appearance.

This pattern continued well into the night. It was close to three in the morning when they had finally had enough. Gokudera had sustained a hard-on for most of that time and Yamamoto had said nothing about it. Now he was amazed that he had managed the feat. He could have sworn he felt something on Yamamoto's end, too, but he was a little too drunk to be sure.

Stumbling out into the parking lot, Gokudera called the first number he managed to press on his speed dial, #8: Lawn-Head, to drive them home while Yamamoto retrieved his jacket from the car.

0o0o0o0

"You two look _extremely_ drunk!" Ryohei greeted, pulling up in his yellow Mustang.

"Yep," Yamamoto crookedly grinned.

Gokudera fell into the backseat without a word. Yamamoto slid in on the other side and grinned even broader as a warm shoulder came to rest against his.

"Whose place first?"

"Um…" One glance at just how smashed Gokudera was and Yamamoto figured it would be safer for them to stay together tonight. To make sure one of them didn't choke on their own vomit and die. Or something. "My place."

Gokudera didn't protest, so he thought it was cool with him. In fact, Gokudera wasn't doing anything but leaning against him, and he stayed that way for the entire fifteen minutes it took to get to his apartment.

"Thanks for giving us a ride, senpai!" Yamamoto nearly tripped over his own feet on his way out of the car. So maybe he was a little bit more intoxicated than he thought.

"No problem!"

Yamamoto led the way up the stairs to his flat, bringing a spare blanket and pillow out to the couch once inside. Gokudera plopped onto it, eyes closed and face relaxed as if already asleep, but when Yamamoto muttered a faint, "Goodnight," he heard a muffled reply. A silly smile spread itself over his face and he shuffled down the hall to his room.

Taking a sidelong look at his clock, he decided to forego a shower in favor of getting to the sleeping part faster. He pulled off his over-shirt and pants, toed off his socks, and fell onto his bed with a sigh. His rain ring remained around his neck; he hardly ever took it off anymore. It only took him a few deep breaths before his mind was wandering on the border of dreams. Simple thoughts, like that his blanket was soft against his skin, fell to the background and more vaguely complex notions flitted around his waning consciousness.

Silver threads tickled his face, Gokudera's scent, his warm smile and bright green eyes flickered and dimmed. A feather ran over the line of his cheekbone, his jawline, and down. Then it was the soft press of a fruit against his lips. He waited for the burst of flavor but it never came. Instead, he heard a quiet hum that could have been the wind against his window, but it had a depth of tone that made that impossible.

All at once, his mind caught on and it wasn't abstractions and radical peculiarities playing in his thoughts, it was Gokudera, breathing hard and pressing warm against him through his blanket.

"Wha—! Gokudera!?"

"Mmm," he sighed. Moist lips touched the shell of his ear. "Yamamoto."

Yamamoto sat up, pushing Gokudera back by the shoulders and gaping incredulously. Thin streams of lamplight from his window showed Gokudera in all his drunk—and apparently horny—glory. A deep flush to his face, hair tousled carelessly, lips slightly open, and shirt rumpled—he was obviously not in his right mind. Neither was Yamamoto, but still. It took his own jumbled brain a moment to process the situation, but when he did, the only intelligible thought he could put together was, _Why is he in my room?_

Still trying to figure things out, he was caught off-guard. Gokudera's tongue found his neck and slithered hot from collar bone to ear before Yamamoto could gather the resistance to push him back again. By that time the downhill progression had already begun.

"Gokudera, why are you—?"

"Mn…"

Had Gokudera just…why yes, he had. In fact, he still was—straddling his lap and grinding down against him. That's when he noticed that Gokudera's pants were missing, his boxers dangerously low and made of a shiny dark blue material. While he ogled this phenomenon, Gokudera got annoyed with the blanket and lifted his hips to pull it aside, exposing Yamamoto's lower half. He promptly glued his front to Yamamoto's, despite the hands attempting to keep him at a safe distance.

A soft moan slipped out as a shiver ran down. The blanket had really been helping, but in its absence, Yamamoto felt the full affect of Gokudera moving against him. It had been hard enough to keep from groping his friend in the club all night, with pants and the presence of others between them, but now… It was like fighting the pull of a Tsunami's tide. This was one storm he could never defend against.

Those slim pianist fingers were trailing up his sides, pulling his tank top up and progressing things at an alarming pace. Yamamoto licked his lips and grabbed those hands before they could complete their task.

"Wait, aren't you drunk? I don't think this is a good id—"

"Shut up, baseball freak." Gokudera used that moment to quickly push the shirt up, twisting it around wrists and forcing Yamamoto down and with his arms above his head. The shocked expression alone had Gokudera smirking predatorily. "I'm not as drunk as you think."

Testing the restraint, Yamamoto gave up on trying to free himself and saw half-lidded eyes and sharp, white teeth. "What do you mean? You downed six shots of tequila and lots of other drinks within hours!"

"Heh. That's just the thing. I don't have a particularly high tolerance for liquor, but it doesn't affect me for very long. That last round is already starting to wear off."

"So this whole time you were dancing so close and I thought you were plastered…"

"You are too tempting sometimes, Yamamoto Takeshi," he growled. A sharp nip to his collar bone made Yamamoto jump, then soft press of lips and warm wet of tongue elicited a quiet hiss. Gokudera was rocking his hips slowly, steadily, and Yamamoto realized his eyes had fallen shut, biting his lip to keep the sounds in. Teeth and tongue made their way up the column of his throat and then that tongue was teasing his, and he didn't know when he had opened his mouth. He resisted for a valiant amount of time before succumbing to the whims of Gokudera's enticing kisses.

"Where do you keep it?" Gokudera broke to ask.

"Huh?" He was a little scatter-brained, after receiving the kiss of his life from the crush of his life. What do you expect? Gokudera just chuckled, a low, promising sound in the darkness.

"If I were Yamamoto, where would I put it?" Delivering kisses and caresses in random spots as he mused, Gokudera soon sat up with an, "Aha!" Leaning over the bed, he reached just under the bed, groping around until he found what he was after. Yamamoto's eyes widened.

"How did you know that was there?"

"Because I know you, you moron. Now shut up and be still."

He released his hold on the shirt binding Yamamoto's wrists and popped the cap on the bottle he'd found. Before he could fully extract his hands from the material, Gokudera's were down his boxers, one distracting from what the other was about to do. And distract it did. The mere notion of a handjob from Gokudera was enough to set his mind whirling once again. He managed to free one hand from the shirt, only to clench it in the sheets.

Then there was a slick finger in a _very_ odd place, creating simultaneously unsettling and invigorating sensations.

"Gokudera! What—" Yamamoto gaped into an smug expression that clearly said, "Well, what did you expect?" He gulped.

Fingers…very _very_ odd sensations, and he knew what Gokudera was doing, why he was doing it, what it would lead to, but he didn't have the strength of will to stop him. It felt damn good, that mouth on his chest and those hands doing unthinkable things. Ridiculously skilled for the amount of liquor he had consumed, not two hours ago. All he could do was grip Gokudera's shoulders and ride it out. He thought he was managing fairly well, considering he'd never done this before, but then…

"Ah!" His whole body jerked.

"So that's it, eh?" Gokudera circled the spot that had Yamamoto tensing and breathless by the sheer force of the pleasure. "What's it feel like, Yamamoto?"

"Unnh…" Another shiver, eyes shut tight. "F-fucking amazing…"

"Yeah?" Gokudera bit his lip with a tortured look. "Fucking…stupid…sexy idiot." They were both panting now.

Yamamoto was still confused. He had a lot of questions he wished he could remember at the moment. Mostly, he just wished he could make sense of the situation. It was far too hard to think, especially when Gokudera was murmuring, "Relax," and finally taking off the rest of his clothes. He pulled Yamamoto's boxers, currently gathered at his knees, completely off, and moved closer, close enough to connect their lips for a good, long kiss.

Gokudera was pressed as close as he could get, as naked as he could get, and Yamamoto's ears were burning. It was a tight fit, but not uncomfortable. Gokudera had seen to that. It was just _weird_ and he still didn't get _why_ this was happening and with _Gokudera_, who he would have sworn would never look at him like that in a million years.

And then he started moving.

Slow and careful, almost gently, like Gokudera never was with him. His hands were in Gokudera's hair, pulling him down for a kiss, and not only did he allow it, he seemed to want it as much as Yamamoto did. This connection that was more than just sex and sensations, more than a one-night stand after a night of drinking and frustrating physical contact. Something in Yamamoto's mind _clicked_ and suddenly it was all okay.

"Hayato," he whispered. Shocked green eyes, a vulnerable expression, and something like relief that Yamamoto felt as well. "Hayato."

"What?" with false annoyance, "Shut up, would you? I'm busy here." A smile.

That natural smile, just for him, and a kindness he'd only glimpsed once, thanks to a stray kitten. Something swelled and lightened him, made breathing difficult, but he didn't mind. He shifted his hips up and twined their legs together, glued his mouth to Gokudera's graceful neck, and groaned out his pleasure.

Listening to the quiet sounds of his best friend, Yamamoto realized that this was what he'd been waiting for.

0o0o0o0

He woke to find that he felt more disgusting than he could even remember. Not that it bothered him. Still, the first thing he did was hop in the shower and get nice and clean. It was after that, when he was toweling his hair and wondering why he had slept so late, that he walked into the living room, saw Gokudera lounging on his couch with his own laptop, and remembered last night. He froze. Blinked. And grinned just about as broadly as he ever had in his entire life.

Sauntering up behind him, he leaned on the back of the couch to see that Gokudera was surfing the internet.

"You know my password?"

"Not too hard to figure it out." Not too hard to figure _you _out.

"Yeah?" He snaked his arms around his chest and rested his head on his shoulder, kissing his neck as an afterthought.

"Who said you could be all touchy-feely with me?"

"No one. But no one said I couldn't, either."

"Tch."

"Breakfast?"

"Like you could cook anything edible." He closed the laptop and set it aside, turned his head to look at him but got a kiss instead.

"Let's go out, then," Yamamoto continued to kiss him until they were nearly breathless.

"Yeah, whatever." Gokudera fought his smile, eventually giving up and turning it into a smirk instead. "Your treat."

"Haha, only if you promise to come back over tonight."

"…You idiot. Fine."

And even though they both had class the next morning, neither one of them bothered to get out of bed.


End file.
